Moulin Rouge: Les Saisons Peuvent Changer
by Anya2
Summary: Two years following Satine’s death, the Moulin Rouge is still in full flow. Christian, however, is not. This is a tale of his search for absolution and how sometimes all you need is love.
1. Prologue

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Title: Moulin Rouge: Les Saisons Peuvent Changer (Seasons May Change - at least I hope that's right!)

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Author: Anya

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Rating: R - Deals with some disturbing issues - severe depression, alcoholism, violence, rape, murder, prostitution.....Gee, 1900's Paris sure sounds fun, huh?

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Summary: Two years following Satine's death, the Moulin Rouge is still in full flow. Christian, however, is not. This is a tale of his search for absolution and how sometimes all you need is love.

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Author's Notes: Of course, this does contain one major spoiler for the film. I guess you know what that is. I'm using a little artistic license here, since the real Toulouse had died come 1902. 

When I saw the film, I felt so sorry for Christian. He had had all his dreams and ideals shattered. I wanted him to have a happy ending. Also everyone kept saying that you just couldn't do a believable sequel to this film and I do like a challenge! This story kept popping up in my head and just wouldn't leave me alone, so I wrote it. Do enjoy. And if you do, tell me. Writers must have their egos fed!

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Disclaimer: Moulin Rouge and everything associated with it belong to Baz Lurhman et al. The characters of Vianne, Chanterelle and Lucille are of my invention and hence belong to me. The songs used here are credited at the end. None of this gains me a profit, just takes up a lot of my spare time....

MOULIN ROUGE: Les Saisons Peuvent Changer....

PARIS 1902.....

Prologue

A young man sits in a dingy, filthy apartment. He is in little better state than his surroundings. Unshaven and unkempt, it looks as if he has been on a downward spiral for some time. He is surrounded by various bottles - mainly absinthe and all empty - as well as plethora of other rubbish. The only clear spaces in the room appear to be one small section of the bed, in which he sleeps, and on the desk surrounding the typewriter. The contraption has sat in a state of disuse for a year now. He only retrieved it from the pawn broker in order that he could fulfil the dying wish of the woman he loved.

Their story lay written beside the typewriter. No one bar him had ever read it. No one would. It was not for public eyes. The work he did for the shows had dried up the instant the last spark of life had left her. His muse was gone. His inspiration dead. His reason for living had abandoned him.

As Christian sat, pen held floatingly over his journal, he switched off his mind and allowed himself to write. This private catharsis was all that he had. He was a recluse - rarely seen in the outside world and had minimal contact with other people. Even the persistent Toulouse had been less frequent in his visits of late.

But Christian knew he had to do something. Clear out some of what was cluttering his mind or he would undoubtedly slip into insanity.

That was, of course, relying on the premise that he hadn't already. He couldn't be sure anymore. Remembering what things had been like before Satine was so difficult.

So he wrote. Wrote down the pain he lived with everyday and somehow it made it bearable. Today's entry was different though. Not the mournful wailing of sorrow, not the constant asking of 'why', but something else entirely more frightening:

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'Every day it is fading. Not the hurt - I fear that will last with me for eternity and beyond. But her. Satine. I can no longer remember the sound of her voice. The way she looked when she smiled. The exact shade of her eyes. She is fading from me and I can't seem to stop it.

And when she is gone, finally leaving me forever, what will she leave behind? What have I become? A shell of a man filled with nothing but pain and sorrow.

Oh, Satine! Take me with you! Tear out my soul and drag it to the place where you 're going. I am of no use here anymore. I have lived with the grief of your memory for so long now, I no longer know how to function without it....'

He looked out of the window he sat on and down into the Moulin Rouge below him. It was just past four in the morning now and the sound of revelry had finally turned silent. Christian often wondered why he stayed here, surrounded by such harsh reminders, but he always knew the answer - Satine was here. Her spirit imbued the place and he couldn't - wouldn't - escape from it's grasp.

"Satine," he whispered softly, talking to the stars they had once danced under. She was a sparkling diamond. Surely she had been planted in the sky with the others of her kind.

"Satine, why did you have to be you? Why were you the one?"

If only she'd been a simple dancer, or a flower girl or a seamstress, or anything but the star of the show. They would have been free then to love and live, and they could have been happy.

But it wasn't to be. That's not how the fairy-story had worked out. Christian began to sing to himself. Softly, his voice mixing with the gentle breeze.

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Once upon a lifetime

I looked in someone's eyes

And felt the fire burning in my heart

For the very first time

Oh yes, it had been like that. A fire blazing so fiercely he thought he would combust. It was all the writers said it would be. Fireworks. Explosions. A choir of dulcet angels.

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I was scared and young

And never tasted love

But a woman took my hand

And turned a boy into a man

Once upon a lifetime

Scared? Terrified more like. That night in the elephant, when she had been trying to seduce him because she thought he was the Duke? He hadn't known where to look or place himself. Beautiful women did not throw themselves at him everyday. Or any day for that matter.

Had Satine ever been in love before? He didn't think so. A smile played across his lips as he remembered how violently opposed she was to the notion. And yet, he had seen something in her. A willingness behind her facade of the uncaring courtesan, out for the highest price.

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And once upon a lifetime

You hold the Queen Of Hearts

But if you gamble on a diamond win

The dealing starts

You stand to lose it all

As the cards begin to fall

And the lessoned learned is hard

You're only dealt the Queen Of Hearts

Once upon a lifetime

A diamond. The Queen Of Hearts. Satine had been these and more. A rare symphony of characters and passions, talents and dreams. How could there be another like her in this world? And how could he ever settle for anything less?

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So if you're taking chances know the chance you take

A broken heart's a high price to pay

Foolish ways will make fools of the wise

And the best things seldom come along twice

And people only find a love like yours and mine

Once upon a lifetime

As his voice faded into a frost mist, he felt the loneliness seep into his veins once more.

Just the once. Never again would he love with such a passion and intensity. He simply didn't think he could - his ravished soul had nothing left to give anymore. And if it couldn't be how it had been with Satine, then he didn't want to love at all. He wanted to mourn. Then he wanted to die.


	2. The Devil and the Angel

Chapter 1

Harold Zidler was a shrew business man. He hadn't managed to keep the Moulin Rouge up and running for over ten years without some skill and cunning. Although he had believed that saving her after the debacle with the Duke and Satine would be beyond even his diplomatic talents. Somehow, however, he had pulled it off.

Satine's death seemed to have softened the Duke's anger some what. Clearly the man had harboured some feelings for the woman, despite popular opinion that it was simply her beauty that interested him. Zidler had managed to persuade him that the most fitting tribute to the lady would be the legendary success of the Spectacular Spectacular. People were already buying tickets to see the show again. At this rate they could keep it going well into the next year.

Convinced by the profitability of the project, the Duke had purposefully kept Zidler on tenterhooks before he agreed to continue funding the new theatre.

Delighted, Zidler had set about employing the age old motto 'The Show Must Go On'. Satine's replacement was a charming young blonde named Lucille. She carried the role with flair and panache, and it wasn't long before the Duke had his sights on her shapely form. Encouraging the girl to be responsive to his suggestions, Zidler had been ecstatic when his match-making resulted in a marriage proposal. As a reward of sorts, the Duke had returned to him the deeds for the club, on the proviso that he be party to a greater share of the profits. But since the Moulin Rouge was making almost double what it used to, Zidler saw no problems with that.

The loss of Lucille however was a blow. Yet another replacement girl - his third lead in the space of a year - would have to be found and soon. General revelry was the order of the day at the moment, but as soon as they were set, Zidler was eager to get started on their next - as yet unwritten - masterpiece. The only directive he had given to Toulouse and his group of writers had been that it must be more spectacular than the Spectacular Spectacular. Bigger, bolder, brighter and better than anything ever seen. They had bizarrely suggested something about nuns in Switzerland, but Zidler had scoffed at the idea and told them to lay off the absinthe for a while.

Sitting in front of the stage with Toulouse, Satie, The Argentinean and Nini he sunk his head into his hands as yet another tone deaf looks-like-she's-been-kicked-in-the-face-by-a-horse girl ploughed her way relentlessly through a musical number. Did she call that dancing? It looked like she were being electrocuted. And who had done her make-up? A man with a slop bucket?

When she finished, with an attempted splits leaving her fallen on the floor, Zidler looked up with something akin to a grimace.

"Yes, very nice," he said, falsely, "We'll let you know."

Next to him, Nini rolled her eyes, "Let you know that you were bloody awful that is! My knickers have got more talent than you. Go on, clear off!"

The girl scurried away almost terrified.

Zidler shook his head. He had promised the top spot to Nini if he couldn't find anyone. He sincerely hoped it didn't come to that though. Nini was bad enough already. Add an ego on to that personality and he'd create a monster.

"Next!" he hollered forcefully, praying that this would be the one.

It seemed that someone up above was attentive to his prayers as a vision of a woman stepped on stage. Tall, slim, blonde with pale skin and pouting red lips. _'Oh please, God,' _Zidler thought, looking to the heavens, '_Let her be able to sing'._

He needn't have worried. She was a star from the moment the music began to play. She sang her way through a sexy, sassy number - All That Jazz - pouting, flouncing, twirling and high kicking with easy. Her voice was powerful and sultry. Men working around the theatre came around to watch. A sure fire sign she would be a hit.

It seems Zidler had found his 'man'.

When she finished - with a high kick that revealed plenty of leg, slipping gracefully into a full splits - Zidler stood and applauded, followed by Satie, The Argentinean and the others who had gathered around to watch. The only two not show their appreciation of the performance were Nini and Toulouse. Unsurprisingly, Nini had the most sullen look on her face. Clearly she knew she had been out done. Toulouse was a different matter. He sat, arms folded, gaze fixed at the stage, with an expressionless look on his face. Zidler frowned and bent down to talk to him.

"What's the matter, Toulouse?" he asked as he nudged him, "Didn't you like her?" He usually wouldn't care so much about a writer's opinion, but they had gone on and on about getting the right muse and inspiration, eventually driving him to invite them to the auditions. They did hold his fortune in their hands after all - he could cope with pandering to them a little.

Toulouse frowned in return and reached up to pull two large wads out of his ears, "I'm sowwie. Did you say something?"

Zidler looked at the wads and rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you haven't listened to a single one!"

Toulouse shook his head, "No. I listen to the first few, but was fearful for my heawing and took appwopwiate measures. I mustn't have my artistic bwilliance tainted by such caterwauling." He glanced up at the blonde on the stage, "Was she good?"

"Very," enthused Satie.

"Stupendous," the Argentinean agreed.

"Well, hire her then," Toulouse said with a nod.

"I was going to," Zidler replied, a little tersely at having been ordered around by the writer. Looking down at his list, he discovered that there was only one more girl to go. Might as well let her have her moment. Who knows what she had done in order to get herself to an audition here. He smiled up at the girl already on the stage, waiting confidently for her verdict.

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'She knows how good she is,' Zidler thought with a nod, _'One of the qualities of a true star'._

"Well then.....Mademoiselle Chanterelle," he said, consulting his notes for her name, "If you would like to stand to one side, we can let you know shortly."

Chanterelle nodded with a smile and moved off of the stage.

"Next!" Zidler shouted.

The girl walked onto the stage, apparently uncertain as to what she was. Shy and unsure, or confident and outgoing? Zidler found it hard to tell. In fact, he found it hard to tell anything. She was unreadable.

Beautiful though. Shorter than the previous girl and less buxom, but still graceful. She wore a dress of midnight blue which complimented her pale skin. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders, straight as a die, and her eyes were a fathom of the unknown. What such a girl was doing in such a place as this he didn't know. She looked like she should be the beloved daughter of a wealthy Earl, not plying her trade on the boards of a glorified bordello.

She asked the pianist for a note to start her off and he obliged.

Then she began. And Zidler thought he must be in heaven, for here was an angel.

Her voice was sweet and pure. Soft and yet powerful. A quality he had rarely heard in a showgirl, but undoubtedly beautiful. He sat back to listen, glancing across to see Toulouse and the others similarly spellbound.

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Is this home?

Is this what I should learn to believe in?

Try to find

Something good in this tragic place

Just in case

I should stay here forever

Held in this empty space

Oh, but that won't be easy

I know the reason why

My heart's far, far away

Home's a lie....

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For a short moment, Christian believed the song was in his head. Sung by some tormenting fairy which was yet another invention of his ravaged mind. But then he remembered the auditions. Toulouse had tried to get him to go along but he had refused. He didn't want to watch them find the impossible once more - another replacement for Satine.

Over the length of the morning he had managed to block out the songs and singers from his mind. They were mere background noise, intruding on his melancholy. But this voice - this voice pierced through his subconscious. It was different. Sweeter. Gentler. Almost enchanting.

Moving himself cautiously off of the floor, he made his way to the window and sat on the frame. He couldn't see the singer from here, but he could hear her better. Hear the words. And found himself thinking what a sad song it was for such a lovely voice to be singing....

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Oh, but that won't be easy

I know the reason why

My heart's far, far away

Home's a lie....

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Is this home?

Is this were I should learn to be happy

Never dreamed that home cold be dark and cold

I was told everyday in my childhood

Even when we grow old

Home will be where the heart is

Never a word a so true

My heart's far, far away

Home is too

Is this home?

Am I here for a day or forever?

Shut away

From the world until who knows when

Oh but then

As my life has been altered once

It can change again

Build higher walls around me

Change every lock and key

Nothing lasts

Nothing holds

All of me

My heart's far, far away

Home and free.....

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Her voice faded softly away into the purest note. For a long moment there was silence. No one wanted to break the spell.

Eventually, Zidler shook himself out of his trance.

"Well, Mademoiselle...."

"Vianne," she said, when she saw him searching for her name.

Zidler smiled, "Mademoiselle Vianne. That's a rare beauty indeed. I think I speak for us all when I say we haven't heard the likes of it today."

"Thank you," she said, clearly uncertain if that was a good or a bad thing.

Zidler smiled like the Cheshire Cat, "Mademoiselle, if you and Mademoiselle Chanterelle would like to collect your things, I think we have some discussion to do in my office."

Both girls looked a little perplexed but complied.

"Which one will you hire?" Toulouse asked, tugging on Zidler's coat as the man stood up.

"Both," he said simply.

"Both?" Satie enquired, "But surely there's only room for one headlining girl.

"My, dears," he said with a shrew grin, "What you are failing to grasp here is a perfect business opportunity. Some of our clientele like the daring femme fatale, and some prefer the innocent princess. We can have both. The devil and the angel. Surely such a prospect can get your creative minds flowing if nothing else?"

Toulouse joined Zidler's smile. The man certainly knew his business. And yes, this did provide a whole new set of possibilities.


	3. I'll Drink To That

Chapter 2

The broken end of the bottle clattered to the floor as his grip loosened. It would be so easy. He could just end it all now and be done with it, instead of forcing himself to try to carry on with this retched existence. But every time the thought crossed his mind, every time he decided that he would do it, his courage left him. No, he wasn't brave enough for the direct route. It wasn't the pain - he knew pain, it had been his constant companion these last two years. He was just too afraid of what lay before him if he did go through with it. His father would say he would go straight to hell, but what was this if it wasn't a slow, fiery torment that seemed to have lasted for an eternity?

Perhaps he and Satine would be reunited in a better world. Perhaps she was just waiting for him now, pleading for him to hurry. And perhaps there was nothing, and if he did do it, all trace of the love they had once shared would be lost from any and all planes of existence. He wasn't ready for that. In truth, he wasn't ready to stop suffering.

So instead he chose absinthe. The slow, gradual rot of his insides through the abuse of certain alcoholic delights. Speaking of which, he seemed to be short of them. A trip to the cheapest of liquor stores appeared to be in order.

He rose unsteadily off of the floor and shrugged on his coat over his vest without bothering with a shirt. What did he care what others thought of him? His departure was interrupted however by the arrival of Toulouse. He might have known - it was high time for another one of his little visits.

When he opened the door to find the little man about to knock, he simply sighed and retreated to his bed to sit and wait out the visit. He had long since given up pleading with or shouting at Toulouse to leave him alone. The man was annoyingly obstinate. Still, if by trying to badger him into existence, Toulouse felt as if he was doing something for his friend, let him do it. Maybe he wouldn't feel so badly then when Christian's tenuous thread on the world finally snapped completely.

"A good evening, my fwiend," Toulouse announced brightly as always. He looked up and down his appearance with distain, "Dwessed for company I see."

Christian kept his gaze rooted on the hands he had clasped over his knees, "Did you come all the way down here to compliment me on my wardrobe?"

"Certainly not," Toulouse replied, picking his way through the filthy apartment and perching on the chair, "I came to tell you what an exciting day I had."

"Really?" Christian asked, clearly not interested, "How nice for you."

Toulouse was either oblivious to Christian's attitude, or choosing to simply ignore it. Christian believed it to be the latter.

"Yes, we helped Zidler pick out his new girl for the club. Well, I say 'girl', but it turned out to be 'girls'. Twuely magnificent specimens of the female persuasion, I can tell you."

"How wonderful," Christian said, rising to leave. He didn't want to talk about the Moulin Rouge. He didn't want to think about the girls who were there to replace Satine. He didn't feel well and he wanted a drink.

"Wait a moment!" Toulouse insisted, following him out of the door as fast as he could, "I haven't told you the most exciting part yet!"

Christian sighed and turned back, wondering why Toulouse continued to bother.

"The show," Toulouse explained, "The new show. The one more spectacular than the Spectacular Spectacular. We are going to write it!"

Christian looked at him steadily for a moment. 'We?' Surely he didn't mean.....

He shook his head and walked away.

"Cwistian!" Toulouse called out, making the young man pause again. He walked up to him and rounded him to look up into his face. A face which had once held enthusiasm and passion and love, but had been too long reduced to shadows.

"If you want, you could write with us."

Part of Christian was genuinely touched by the offer. In some ways it would be so easy to begin again. To pick up where he left off. But Satine and all she had meant to him was fading too fast as it was and he wanted to do nothing which would help the process. He so desperately wanted to remember.

He wiped his hand over his sweaty face and held it out to Toulouse, "Could you lend me some money?"

Toulouse's usually jovial face turned to concern. Christian certainly was looking worse these last few days. His pallor was ashen. His eyes had sunken back into their sockets. His build and frame seem to have deteriorated more every time he saw him. His face was covered in perspiration, and the hand he held out trembled.

"Perhaps you should stay at home tonight, hmm?" he suggested gently.

"Toulouse," Christian whispered, "Please...." Yes, he wanted to remember. But sometimes he also needed to forget. The girl today. The singer. She had reminded him of so much. Her song was sweet like that of the love birds that Satine had once owned, and which Christian had taken charge of until they had also died a few months ago.

He needed to escape from himself. Just for a short while.

Toulouse heard the pleading in his friend's voice and sighed, digging into his pocket.

"This is the last time," he promised, handing over a few coins, "This dwinking will be the end of you, I've seen it happen to others."

Christian laughed, but somehow he managed to make the sound without pleasure or humour, "Yes, I will most certainly drink to that."


End file.
